


Evening

by EnergonGiraffes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Just really cute and fluffy, M/M, and it was written for school so I only hinted at the gay, but the gay is there, if you squint slightly, kinda wincesty too, what do i even ship anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnergonGiraffes/pseuds/EnergonGiraffes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Prompt was 'Evening is a time for...."<br/> Summary - Team free will’s typical evening. A bit of a fluffy Destiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evening

Evening was a time for relaxing; plain and simple. It didn't mater where the Winchester boys where; when the sun started it imminent journey below the tree line the boys would finally start to calm down. 

In the Impala, Dean would finally reach over to turn down (and sometimes on rare evenings even off) the radio. It was a reflex by now - the movement - and he wouldn't even have to look away from the road. His lips would curl happily if Sammy gave out a almost inaudible sigh of relief and that made everything worth it. Sammy would slid down in his seat with sleep on his mind; dreams of demons, and angels and Dean in his near future. 

If the angel was with them He would slide himself over to deans side of the car as he continued to drive; black asphalt and yellow lines flying by. In hushed voices the Hunter and the Angle would talk still, relaying anything that crossed their minds. They’d talk and laugh sleepily - yawns filling the car- until night was nigh and if they hadn’t found a motel by that time the boys would pull over and they would trade places so that Dean could get some sleep. 

The older hunter would fall asleep almost instantly - his head vibrating uncomfortable on cool glass. Cas would yet again slide over to match the hunter. He’d rest his own head against the back of the seat. The leather was more comfortable then glass but Dean never seemed to complain or ask to switch places with the angel. But he wouldn't deny when, on cold days, Cas would -like clockwork- hand his trench coat to the hunter. Mumbled thanks was passed between the two before Castiel would snake his hand through the gape between the door and the seat, intertwining his fingers with deans. The hunter would -with help from the angel- finally get some well needed sleep, not worrying about anything for at least a few hours. 

If they had managed to find a hotel, things where better but not by much. The trio would claim their beds. Sam always went to the one farthest from the door since he knew Dean always took the one closest. Sam would either sit cross legged on his bed for a few more hours; researching the next day’s case on his laptop or he would just slip under the covers and fall straight to sleep. 

Dean would always at least try to sleep even if they did need to research. Cas, who didn’t actually need to sleep, would curl up on the bed beside dean anyway; resting his muscles but not sleeping, instead opting to watch over his boys. Like a oversized guard dog with wings and an overcoat. And yet even then, they slept barley - tossing and turning throughout the night. Dean’d periodically get up to pace back and forth; checking on a sleep babbling Sam and a quite Castiel almost obsessively.

But evenings at Bobby’s where the best. They where as home as the Winchesters could get and just as safe. All four members of Team Free Will would bumble into their predestined places. Sammy’d stretch out along the couch looking much too mouse like for his own good. He’d be looking through books and taking notes, or engrossed on the computer taking notes. Bobby’s be smiling happily at his strange little family in his overstuffed chair, a beer half finished in his hand. Dean and Cas somehow every time find themselves crammed comfortably into another huge chair, a tangled ball of limbs, wings and smiles, an over coat thrown over them haphazardly. 

A faint aroma of whatever they had had for dinner would still be floating around the house. It had been their first cooked meal in over two months and it had been like eating at the most expensive French restaurant to them and “Damn Bobby, you can cook!”’s would bounce around between the three. Bobby would just wave them off with a smile. 

The TV was on, but low, something about AC/DC was on but no one seemed to really care. It wasn’t only because they’d all seen this documentary five hundred times (Dean knew every fact there was to know and actually may have been able to recite the whole thing if you asked him and bribed him with the promise of pie) but because this was rare, so rare. Family time. And so if they where actually laughing -legitimately happy - for once, who could have blamed them?


End file.
